I look at him. “You wouldn’t.”
He doesn’t even glance my way. With one swift flick, he taps the handle in my grip and it slides cleanly into his hand.
“Easy.”
“You know a lot about knives?” I ask.
“Not really. That’s Milo. The shit he does with a blade would scare you. Hell, it scares me sometimes. But I learned to use a knife before I held a pen. That’s what my family taught me first. Protect yourself. Fight with anything. If there’s no weapon? Make one.” I try again, but it still doesn't balance. And Matteo still isn’t looking at me.
I shift between his legs, close enough to feel his breath. Still no glance.
I reach out, my fingers brushing over his bruised knuckles. “Are you okay?”
He doesn't flinch. “Not my first fight, little lamb. I don’t lose. It’s not in my nature.”
“Why won’t you look at me?”
“Because one of two things will happen,” he says, voice low and grit. “One, I’ll see your face and the rage will rise again, and I’ll go hunt the bastard who laid his hand on you. Or two, I’ll kiss you so hard I’ll ruin you more than I already have.”
My breath sticks. I can’t speak. The weight between us is too heavy.
He takes a slow drag of his cigarette. The tip burns red in the dark.
Then, softly, he asks, “The other night… Did I hurt you?”
My heart trips.
His voice is barely audible. “Are you in pain?”
I shake my head, even though he isn’t looking. “No. You didn’t hurt me. I’m not in pain.”
He nods. Quiet again, and then, he stands up. “Good night, little lamb.”
And with that, I’m left in the cold. Not a glance. Not even a backwards look. Just the smoke he leaves behind and the silence which wraps around me like a second skin. He walks away like I’m nothing, like what happened was nothing and that’s what cuts deepest.
The wind bites at my cheeks, tears pooling without falling. I sit there, motionless, his cigarette smoke still lingering in the air like a ghost.
He didn’t look at me. Not once.
And still, I feel like he saw everything.
Chapter 12
Matteo
It’s the first time in days I’ve laughed without blood in my mouth. We’re out behind the Italian wing but can still see everyone around us. Leaning against the stone wall, the sun actually shining for once in this cursed place. Milo’s shirtless, cranking out pull-ups on the rusted scaffolding like he’s posing for a calendar.
Marco’s sitting on a crate nearby, phone in one hand, protein bar in the other. “You’re not even going all the way down. That’s cheating,” he snaps at Milo, and I laugh, agreeing.
Milo lets go and drops down. “Ten full ones. Clean.”
“Ten limp ones,” Marco mutters.
“Let’s see your hacker ass make it halfway,” Milo fires back.
I laugh, finishing the last drag of my cigarette before flicking it away.
Rosa rolls her eyes as she joins the conversation. “You boys and your testosterone contests. It’s like watching dogs sniff each other’s asses.”
